


Blow a Kiss at the Methane Skies

by SemicolonSimon



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, Any ships are implied, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Is Gay, Everyone Needs A Hug, Except Show Pony, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Humor, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Jet Star is a MOM, Kobra Kid has freckles fite me, More tags to be added, Non binary Show Pony, Party is angry, Straight? What's that?, Swearing, They just flirt with everybody, They're younger than in canon, This is sort of an au since I've changed so many things about it, Whump, like a lot, lots of swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 00:32:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18173492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SemicolonSimon/pseuds/SemicolonSimon
Summary: A series of semi connected one shots following the Fabulous Four.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jet Star loses a friend (but finds himself)

Ray wasn’t sure exactly why he had stopped taking the pills.

Maybe it was his subconscious, the part that wasn’t dulled by the medication, that suspected what they did to him. Maybe he forgot, once, twice, until they wore off. Or maybe he was just lazy.

Whatever the reason, Ray hadn’t taken his pills in a while. And since he had stopped, the flow of thoughts in his brain started. Thoughts that whispered, maybe Better Living Industries is bad. Maybe they aren’t trying to help us at all. Maybe you’re the only one in the entirety of Battery City that isn’t taking the pills. Maybe you’re the only one.

Ray was afraid of his thoughts.

Which was why now, every day, he would just sit in his bedroom and sort through them. Ideas and thoughts and all these new things in his brain--it was a really difficult thing to get used to. Seventeen year’s worth of brain activity--he was behind. That’s where he was now. Curled up in a chair in his bedroom, short hair free from his hat, just thinking. The emotional freedom was beautiful, and terrifying.

Oh, that was another thing. Emotions. Of course he still had emotions when he was taking the pills. He did. They just felt… fake. Programmed. Like he was a robot, only there to exist and feel what others wanted him to. He had felt happiness (shallow, cold, wrong) and sadness (sickening, trapped, confined) and one time, anger (scalding, freeing, shattered). Now, without the pills, he felt a huge range of emotions. It’s not all black and white, like he had assumed. It was so many shades of gray--how could you be happy and sad at the same time? It didn’t make sense! But then again, emotions didn’t seem to make sense. How could fear be an emotion when it felt so real, like a hummingbird trapped in his chest whenever he saw a BL/ind official, or sadness, like acid melting away at his heart when he saw the glossed-over smiles of his mom and dad? It was too much, all of it.

He didn’t know what to do.

He was startled out of his thoughts ( _his_ thoughts, that’s weird to say) by a sharp knock at his door, three of them in quick succession. He knew who it was immediately, and it brought a real, genuine smile to his face.

He slipped his beanie over his curly hair (still no idea why BL/ind wanted him to hide his hair) and answered the door, trying to look a little less enthusiastic. “Hey Ray,” Bob said, smiling, blond hair flopped over one eye. “We need to talk.”

“Hello Bob,” Ray responded, praying his voice sounded like somebody who took their pills regularly. “What about?”

Bob threw himself into Ray’s chair, propping a hand under his chin. “I know you haven't been taking your pills.”

Ray felt the blood drain from his face. His smile disappeared, replaced with an expression of shock. The hummingbird went crazy in his chest. “What?”

“It’s okay,” Bob said. “I haven't been taking them either.”

Ray said the only thing he could. “Why?”

A shrug raised Bob’s shoulders. “Same reason as you, I guess. To feel.”

“I didn’t do it to feel,” Ray said, hands shaking slightly. “I… I don’t know why I did it.”

“Can’t you feel it,” Bob whispered, eyes dancing with something Ray couldn’t read. “The pull? To explore? To leave?”

Ray sat on the corner of his gray bed and shrunk into himself, staring at gray walls, white ceiling, white floor, black desk. He could barely hear his own voice. “I don’t know.”

“We need to leave,” Bob prompted. “We can’t stay in Battery City any longer, R. It’s going to suffocate us.”

Maybe, deep inside, Ray knew he was right. They would be suffocated in the city, with so many ideas in an idea-resistant place. Maybe Better Living Industries officials would find them, arrest them, or worse. Maybe that’s why he agreed. “What about our families?” He asked, voice cracking slightly. His eyes felt wet.

“The pills are dulling their minds, R,” Bob said softly. “They won’t care that we’re gone. They’re artificial.”

Ray struggled to talk around the lump in his throat. “When do we leave?”

“Tonight. I’ll show up outside your window.” Whatever reason Bob had for tonight, it was probably a good one. Ray nodded dumbly. “Okay. I’ll see you tonight then.”

“Tonight,” Bob agreed, walking out the door without even a goodbye. Leaving Ray alone to his dysfunctional, overwhelming thoughts.

 

Ray felt a new feeling that night. Excitement.

Underneath the blood-freezing terror that stood the hair on his neck straight up, underneath the fear of what was out there, beyond Battery City, there was excitement. After all, what was out there? Trees? Barren land? People? All the kids who disappeared from the city must have gone somewhere, right? Then, outside his window, he heard a whisper.

“Raymond, Raymond,” Bob cried. “Wherefore art thou, Raymond?”

A giggle rose in his chest as he peered outside. “Bob. Shut up.”

He could see the grin from here, flashing in the barely present light of the moon. “Jump. It’s not that far.”

Backpack slipped over his shoulders, Ray swung his feet over the edge of his windowsill. Huh, was that adrenaline? Weird. He landed with a thump, Bob grabbing him as he did so.

“You okay?”

“I’m good,” Ray panted. “That was crazy.”

“It’s going to get crazier,” Bob grinned. “Come on.” Hands interlocked, the two departed, Ray sparing a quick glance at the place he had called home.

They headed to the wall, looming and silent in the distance. They crept through people’s yards, ran down sidewalks quietly, even hopped a few fences. The entire time, Ray was on edge. He was terrified of what would happen if they were caught. He wasn’t sure what time it was when they reached the wall, but it had been a while. The was beginning to set, and the sky was lightening considerably. Ray ran a hand along the concrete wall, which was smooth and cold under his hands. Enclosing. He didn’t like it.

“So. What now?”

“Over here,” Bob whispered, standing next to a bush that was pressed against the wall. Once Ray had joined him, Bob grabbed a handful of branches and pulled the bush to the side, grinning wildly. “Welcome to the Zones, Ray.”

The feeling in Ray's chest when he looked past the concrete walls for the first time could only be described one way. It felt like a sunrise looked. If you don't understand that, you never will.

“Oh,” Ray gasped “Oh wow. This… this is incredible.”

It was more colors than he had ever seen in his entire life. Thousands of shades of yellows and browns mixed into the sand, cool, clear blue sky on the horizon, plants growing in greens and browns… and in the distance, the sun rose, reds and oranges and yellows swirling together into the most beautiful thing that Ray had ever seen in seventeen years. Ray stood and stared as happiness, real happiness, overtook his body. He must have stood there for at least a full minute.

“We should go,” Bob whispered. “The sun is coming up, and we don’t want BL/ind to catch us.”

Ray didn’t speak, but he followed his blond friend across the desert, marveling at every little thing he saw, from a gray stone lying in the sand, to a lizard poking its head from a hole, or a blackbird flying overhead. When the sun reached the middle of the sky, Ray and Bob got to a road, which was cracked and covered in potholes. Roads in Battery City were well-kept, so it was a bit of a strange sight. Ray’s senses were on overdrive, which is probably why he noticed the approaching bike first.

“There’s a person on a bike,” he informed Bob. “What should we do?”

Bob grimaced slightly. “What if it’s BL/ind?”

“BL/ind doesn’t drive bikes,” Ray scoffed. “That would be dumb. Plus, how would they take us back to the city on a bike? It’s probably an outlaw. Bob! What if it’s a Killjoy?”

“I don’t know…”

“Well it’s too late now,” Ray grinned. “Here they come!”

The sleek white motorcycle pulled up in front of them. The person on the bike was tall, wearing white and black, and a strange mask with blood-red lips. Ray briefly wondered what they looked like under the mask.

“Hi,” Ray grinned. “Who are you?”

“I am Draculoid,” the person replied, their voice strangely garbled. “I am an outlaw. Who are you?”

When Ray opened his mouth to respond, Bob stepped in front of him. “Why do you need to know?”

“Who are you?” Draculoid repeated.

“Bob, it’s fine,” Ray grinned. “I’m Ray Toro, and this is Bob Bryar.”

“It is better to know,” Draculoid said, black gloved hand wrapping around a white gun. “Goodbye.”

There was a quiet humming noise, then a ZAP, and Bob fell onto the pavement, face blank, a red hole in his forehead. Ray’s body moved on it’s own accord as he jumped on Draculoid, but he had no idea what to do. His hand wrapped around the white gun, which was painfully warm, and he wrestled for control of it, using every ounce of strength in his body. He heard another hum, then that terrible, awful zap, and then Draculoid was on the pavement, blood leaking from a hole in its cheek.

“Bob,” Ray whispered hopelessly as he crouched on the pavement next to his friend, cradling his twisted, broken skull. “Bob, get up. Draculoid is dead, we’re safe.” Tears raced down his cheek as his voice began to shatter. “Bob. Please, we just escaped, you can’t leave me. I can’t do this without you Bob, please. You can’t leave, you can’t…”

He begged until his voice was hoarse, until he could beg no longer, until his voice twisted into a desperate whisper in his best friend's mangled ear until vultures began to circle overhead.

Ray sat in the hot sun and held Bob's cold hand until the sky turned black, then light again. He would never forgive himself. Finally, after days had passed, and his broken, numb mind finally convinced him to leave Bob, he got up.

His shirt was soaked with blood, but he was too numb to care. He picked up the sleek white gun that had shot his best friend and began to walk, eyes hollow with disbelief and sadness. It was worse that he had imagined it would be. He was so numb that it took a full day to realize he had left his bag with Bob’s body. He didn’t care.

The only thing that kept him from falling into the sand and not getting up again was Bob. He wouldn’t have wanted Ray to get up. He had died helping him into the Zones, and Ray wasn’t going to waste that chance. As numb as he was, he could still feel the sharp hunger and thirst that threatened to consume him. It was so painful, he didn’t think twice about drinking from the pool of water he found.

After that, he didn’t remember much.

 

He woke up in a bed, vision almost as foggy as his head. There was a person sitting next to him, long black hair pulled into a ponytail, reading a book. He blinked a few times to get a better look at them, but once his sight had cleared, they were wearing a light blue helmet with white spots, face covered, book abandoned. They knocked on the wall loudly, three times.

“Where am I?” Ray asked, chest humming with fear. “Who are you?”

A soft sound reached his ears, creaking floorboards, so he looked at the doorway, and at the man who had appeared there. He wore mostly blacks and dark colors, and sat in a black wheelchair (although it was covered with colorful stickers). His hair was scraggly and black, his eyes covered by sunglasses, and his teeth were crooked when he opened his mouth to speak. "Glad to see you've joined us in the land of the living," he said. "I'm Doctor Death-Defying."

“Where am I?” Ray asked fearfully, back pressed against the wall behind him. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t want anything _from_ you, dust mite,” Doctor Death-Defying said in a gruff voice. “The only thing I want is for you to not die within one day in the desert.”

Ray said the only thing he could. “Why?”

“You’re one of us now, sandworm,” Doctor Death-Defying said. “A Killjoy.”

“A Killjoy?” Ray squeaked, which made Doctor Death Defying smile. “Really?”

“You escaped BL/ind, didn’t cha?” he said. “You were a Zone Runner the moment your feet touched the sands. It's up to Show Pony and I to teach ya now.”

“So you aren’t going to hurt me?”

“Hurt cha?” Doctor Death-Defying grinned. “Show Pony here saved ya life.”

“Oh,” Ray said, relaxing suddenly. He turned to the person next to him. “Thank you.”

Show Pony gave a quick nod.

Ray was reluctant to give out his name, after what had happened a few days ago, but he spoke nonetheless. “My name is--”

“Don’t tell us,” Doctor Death-Defying cut in. “Nobody has to know your real name. That’s for you to give away or keep safe, but you shouldn’t tell anyone you just met, dune devil.”

A genuine smile turned up the corners of his mouth slightly. He liked that idea.

From that point, Doctor Death and Show Pony taught him. It was hard work, learning the skills to survive in the desert. There was a lot to know. He had the most trouble with shooting his blaster, because every time Show Pony helped him aim, he imagined Bob at the receiving end of the gun. Doctor Death assured him it would take time to learn.

It did.

He lived with Doctor Death and Show Pony for about a month. They taught him all they could, then the time came for him to leave.

“It’s for the best, Curls,” Doctor Death said calmly. (He called Ray “curls” after his hair grew out slightly and became even more curly) “We don’t have the supplies to keep ya here for much longer, and besides, it’s time ya made it on your own.”

“It’s okay,” Ray smiled. “I understand that it isn’t your fault.”

“Here,” Doctor Death said, picking something off his lap and throwing it to Ray. “A little parting gift.”

The brunet grinned and looked at the worn leather jacket he had been given. It had an american flag on the back. He slipped it on over the old band tee Show Pony had given him and nodded his thanks.

“A’ight Curls,” Doctor Death said, flashing the boy a peace sign and wheeling himself away. “Keep running.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fun Ghoul finds himself (and a new friend)

One year.

It had been one year since Frank had taken his pills.

One year since he had started wearing a mask.

He was sloppy, at first. He slipped up. Yelled at someone at school, cried when he was upset. He realized he was being watched within the week, so he forced himself to control his emotions. It was difficult, at first, but now he was an expert.

The first few months of not taking his pills, he was mostly just confused. He didn’t know how to escape, or even if he should. He was afraid.

Then his friend James tried to escape.

Without even a goodbye, James had disappeared one night. The next day they showed his body on the news. He’d been shot while trying to escape.

That’s when Frank knew.

He had to get out of Battery City. Soon. 

He knew now, that if Better Living Industries caught him trying to escape, they wouldn’t bring him back to the city. They would shoot him. End of story. He would just be a body on the news, a warning. His plan had to be foolproof.

It wasn’t.

He knew BL/ind was onto him now. It had been a whole year, of course they would be onto him. But he had to run. Tonight.

He left his house wearing a black jacket and black jeans, carrying food and water in his zipped up pockets, but nothing else. He needed full use of his arms.

This was the stupidest idea Frank had ever had, and he cursed his idiocy the entire time he ran, hiding in shadows, gloved hands balled into fists. He was an imbecile.

Finally, after half an hour of running and hiding and fear, he arrived at his destination. A Draculoid Station.

In case you don’t know, a Draculoid Station is the place where Draculoids suit up before leaving Battery City and going out into the desert to hunt Killjoys. It was filled with vans, bikes, and of course, Draculoids themselves. Sometimes even an exterminator. 

And now, Frank.

He hid in some bushes on the outskirts of the Draculoid station, heart hammering in his chest so loud he was sure they could hear it. His hands were shaking.

Nevertheless, when a Draculoid van pulled up near the bush, Frank put on another mask. Bravery.

As soon as the van stopped, Frank jumped out from behind the bush and rolled under the van, grabbing onto the various pipes that made up the undercarriage, and hoisted himself off the ground, held up only by his upper body strength. A cold bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. After a minute, the van began to move.

He heard what sounded like a gate squeaking, then they were off, full speed down a road. Frank couldn’t see much, but he could see sand. He smiled his first real smile in months.

His arms trembled with exertion, but he held tightly to the bottom of the van. 

He hung on for as long as he possibly could, then finally let go. 

Try as he might to protect his head, it still hit painfully on the asphalt, flashing stars in his vision. One of his gloves ripped off, shredding the skin on his hands as he tried to stop himself from rolling around (which he did anyway)

He pushed himself up, right hand stinging painfully. He felt blood trickle from a scrape on his temple.

Luckily, he was prepared for injuries (somewhat). He pulled a roll of ace bandages from his pocket and wrapped his hand with it, wincing. He had no bandages for his head, but the scrape didn’t seem too bad, so he wiped the blood away and stood on shaky legs, grinning as he watched the van drive into the distance.

Then he began to walk.

He walked for a while. A long while. The sun rose, so he found a semi-shaded spot among some scraggly bushes and lay down to sleep. He woke up staring at the sky, stars twinkling above, a stupid grin on his face. Then he got up and walked some more.

The food he packed didn’t last long. A little more than a week. He found more water, so he was set with that, but he was hungry. He needed to find food, soon. He didn’t stay in the city for fourteen years to die of starvation now, so he forced himself to function. To keep going.

It was another week before he found something.

It was nighttime, and he had been walking for several hours. As usual, he was scanning the horizon for something--anything, when he found it.

A soft red glow in the distance.

A fire.

A fire meant somebody was there. A Killjoy, probably. If Frank was lucky, a Killjoy with food.

Frank didn’t intend to ask nicely. He couldn’t take the chance of being turned down. He would have to steal it, so he put on a mask of cold indifference. It wasn’t his problem if that Killjoy starved.

Frank approached the fire painfully slowly, harshly quiet. He dulled his breath to barely a whisper and snuck up on the campfire.

There, he found the Killjoy.

He was taller than Frank (although that wasn’t odd) and probably a few years older. He had curly brown hair and no mask, but he had a helmet that sat next to his bike, which was spray painted blue. The Killjoy wore a dark leather jacket and dark jeans, and his eyes were closed as he leaned against the log, mouth parted slightly. He was asleep.

There was a duffle bag on the back of the bike, so Frank sneaked over to it. He unzipped it as quietly as he could, and pulled out a can of something labeled “Power Pup”. He hoped it was food.

Unfortunately, the stress of sneaking about had made him anxious, which subsequently made his hand slippery with sweat.

The can of Power Pup hit the sand with a soft thud. It was quiet, but it was apparently enough to wake the Killjoy.

His eyes snapped open and stared into Frank’s, surprised, and not hostile. But then his eyes drifted to the open duffle bag and the can in the sand, and his eyebrows furrowed.

Frank didn’t wait for him to put it together. He abandoned the supplies and ran, feet sinking into the sand. A split second later he heard footsteps behind him. 

Frank pushed himself as hard as he could, but it was useless. He was tackled into the sand, arms pulled behind his back and held there as the Killjoy began to talk. Frank was afraid, so he put on a mask. Anger.

“Let me go!” Frank hissed, trying to pull away from the Killjoy. It was no use.

“Destroya,” the Killjoy scoffed. “How old are you?”

“Fuck you!” Frank growled, his wrists beginning to hurt from the tight grip. He was painfully aware of how pathetic he looked, thin and bloody and bedraggled, still wearing the torn BL/ind clothes he was required to wear in Battery City.

“Quit squirming,” The Killjoy huffed. “I’m not trying to hurt you, I just want to talk.”

“That’s what they all say,” Frank said bitterly, despite having never been in a situation like this.

“If I let you go, do you promise not to run away?” The Killjoy asked.

“Fine, yes, I promise,” Frank mumbled, debating whether or not to actually run away. As soon as the Killjoy’s grip loosened, Frank jerked away from him and got to his feet, every muscle prepared to run if he had to.

“What’s your name?” The Killjoy asked.

“Who’s asking?” Frank retorted, voice sharp.

The brunet smiled and stood. “I’m Jet Star. How old are you?”

“What do you want?” Frank hissed.

“Well, forgive me for being worried about a child wandering the desert.”

“I’m not a child! I’m almost fifteen, asshole!” Frank growled, then immediately stared at the horizon and frowned to himself as he realized Jet Star had tricked him.

Jet Star smiled slightly. “Do you know how to shoot a blaster?”

Frank didn’t respond, instead choosing to glare the man in the eyes with as much hate as he could muster.

The brunet tilted his head. “Do you want to learn?”

“How do I know you won’t just shoot me?”

“If I had wanted to shoot you,” Jet Star said, pulling a blue gun from a holster on his belt and spinning it slightly, “I would have already.”

Frank stared at the weapon, realizing how easy it would be for Jet Star to kill him, and stepped backward slightly.

“Uh, sorry,” Jet Star winced, realizing Frank’s fear. 

“You think I’m afraid?” Frank scoffed, obviously afraid. “I could kill you with one hand tied behind my back.”

“Then do it,” Jet Star said suddenly, tossing his gun to Frank, who fumbled with it for a moment then stared at Jet Star, who spread his arms. “Go ahead.”

Face paling, Frank aimed the gun at Jet Star’s chest. His hand shook for a minute, then he lowered the gun. “Ugh. You- fuck you. I’m done. Goodbye.” He shoved the gun into Jet Star’s hands and began to storm off.

“Wait!” Jet Star called, making Frank pause and turn back. “I was serious about teaching you.”

 

“You need to aim down a bit more,” Jet suggested, adjusting Frank’s hand to what seemed a better position. “To account for the recoil.”

Frank hummed. “Why can’t I use two hands, again?”

“Less control,” the brunet replied. “If you use two hands you have to move them both at exactly the same time.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Frank admitted. “Am I doing this right?”

“Uhh,” Jet adjusted Frank’s hand slightly. “Now you are.”

Frank took a deep breath, aimed, then pulled the trigger.

The empty can he was aiming for fell, a hole in the dead center.

Jet raised his arms and cheered, a huge grin on his face. Frank smiled and mirrored his movements.

After a moment, when Jet walked over to examine the can, Frank relented.

“My name is Fun Ghoul, by the way.”

Jet looked up, still grinning stupidly. “Nice to meet you, Fun Ghoul.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to @Cinnibun_Krysantheum and @sadmac356 for commenting on my last chapter! I honestly thought it would take longer for people to comment, and it warms my heart that it only took a few hours. Ily


	3. Finding Fun Ghoul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fun Ghoul is gay (and easy to lose)

Jet Star and Fun Ghoul wandered meaninglessly through the market, sneakers and boots thumping dully on the sandy plywood that made the floor.

“Why are we here again?” Ghoul asked, with the tone of a child who has asked ‘are we there yet’ eighteen times in the past hour.

“We’re here to get you some clothes,” Jet replied, with the tone of a parent who had replied ‘not yet’ nineteen times in the past hour. “The ones you have now are BL/ind standard, and apparently if you want to be a killjoy you have to wear colorful clothes.”

Ghoul looked up at Jet, nose slightly wrinkled. “‘Apparently’?”

The taller boy glanced at the stands, which were akin to those you would find at a flea market. “I haven’t even been a Killjoy for a year,” He admitted. “I was seventeen when I came to the desert, and I’m seventeen now.”

Ghoul hummed. “When’s your birthday?”

“Month or so, probably,” Jet replied. “I don’t really keep track of the days.”

Ghoul was quiet after that.

The two walked for quite a while, not talking. Jet paid more attention to the clothes and the stands than he did to Ghoul. Maybe that’s how he disappeared.

“What’dya say, Ghoul, should we head back or keep looking?”

When Ghoul didn’t answer, Jet turned around and looked for his short friend. “Ghoul? Ghoul!”

He wandered around for a minute, and although it wasn’t particularly crowded in the market, he still worried that perhaps he’d lost his friend in the crowd. Or maybe he’d stopped to look at something and Jet hadn’t noticed, and he’d just kept walking. Whatever the reason, he got nervous for his friend very quickly, and when he couldn’t find the boy after a few minutes, he decided to ask around.

He walked up to the nearest killjoy, a girl wearing a dark blue flannel over a black crop top. She stared at him through a curtain of shoulder-length blonde hair as he approached, eyes narrowing in hostility.

“Excuse me,” he said nervously. “Have you seen my friend? He’s short, with black hair. He’s probably doing something stupid?”

“That way,” the girl said, jabbing behind her with her thumb. Her fingernails were painted in shades of pink and orange.

“Thank you so much,” he said, rushing in the direction she’d pointed.

Along the way, he asked a few more people about Ghoul. A person with wavy purple hair and hazel eyes, a boy with a silver lip ring and a bandana tied around his forehead, a person with colorful red and black hair and a strange accent. He felt as if he were on some sort of quest, even if he was just looking for his dumbass friend who had probably just gotten lost.

After he asked the last person (brown hair that came down to their shoulders, strange tattoos up and down their arms) and they gave a simple “He went into there,” and jabbed to the alley behind them, then he got really worried. The alley looked less than welcoming, with dark corners only growing darker as the sun set, trash filled corners, and graffiti with language so foul it almost made him blush. But then again, that was the killjoy spirit, wasn’t it? Uncleanliness, danger, rebellion. He should welcome it, not be afraid of it. And if Ghoul had gone down there, than it was Jet’s duty to bring him home.

Jet took a deep breath of (semi) fresh air and walked into the alleyway between shops, his hands resting on his dark blue blaster.

It wasn’t as deep as he’d originally thought. It led to a doorway, painted dark colors, above which was a pale blue sign with stars drawn on it that read “BLUE MOON”. Inside he could hear voices chattering and laughing. He sent a silent prayer up to whoever was listening, then pushed the door open.

The room inside was dimly lit, but filled with color. Jet was surprised to find such a large building inside of a market (or anywhere in the desert, really), even if it wasn’t that big. It appeared to be a bar (goddamnit Ghoul), and there was a few people, maybe ten or fifteen in total. In a corner booth was the largest crowd, four or five people crowded around somebody who looked an awful lot like… Ghoul.

A bit of annoyance sparking up inside him now that he knew the kid was safe, Jet loosened his grip on his blaster slightly, and walked over to Ghoul, who was chattering excitedly to the people around him. 

“Hey Jet!” He exclaimed cheerfully as the man approached. “Great news! I’m gay!”

That stopped Jet in his tracks. He’d expected an apology for going missing, or maybe Ghoul being slightly irritated Jet had lost him. This was off topic.

“Congratulations?” Jet said hesitantly. A few of the people around him giggled a bit, and he turned pink. “Why did you disappear?”

“My business is my business, Jet,” Ghoul said haughtily. “Why did you  _ lose  _ me?”

“You’re like 4 feet tall,” Jet said. “How I didn’t lose you sooner should be the question.”

Ghoul wrinkled his face but didn’t retort. “Do we have to stay?”

“Sun’s going down,” Jet replied. “We probably should go.”

The shorter boy sighed, then slid under the table. He crawled out a second later, standing up and wiping his (probably sticky) hands on his pants. “Let’s go.”

As the two turned to leave, Ghoul waved goodbye to the people that had been crowded around him. Jet pushed the door to the bar open and noticed that the alleyway was now lit with blue fairy lights. Couldn’t it have been like that when he came in?

It was only when they exited the alley and walked into the dim light that Jet noticed the kid’s clothes. He was now wearing a yellow shirt with black stripes on the sleeves under a ratty green vest, which was unzipped. He had a small rainbow drawn on his hands.

“Nice clothes,” Jet said. “Where’d you get them?”

“The guys gave them to me,” Ghoul said cheerfully, neglecting to elaborate.

“The guys?”

“The people in the Blue Moon,” Ghoul explained. “Snow Bird, Honey Pink, Phoenix, and the girl, Billie.”

“Uh huh,” Jet said, confused and more than a little annoyed. “How did you end up in a bar, anyway?"

“Billie found me!” Ghoul said, skipping slightly. “I stopped to look at something, then I looked up and you were gone. I asked Billie if she knew where you were, and she didn’t, but she offered to bring me somewhere I could wait for you. Apparently that ‘somewhere’ was a gay bar, where I sat and waited with Billie and her friends. Bird explained what gay was, since I didn’t know, and I realized I’m gay. Fun, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jet said hesitantly. “Fun.”

Ghoul stopped skipping and scratched his head. “Dude, I am  _ tired _ . Are we far from the bike?"

“Not far,” Jet noted. “Hopefully nobody stole it."

“Can I sleep on the bike?”

“Yeah, but you have to sit on the front so I can hold on to you."

Ghoul rolled his eyes slightly. “Okay,  _ mom _ .”

And that was the moment Jet realized he  _ was  _ a bit of a parent. He worried about Ghoul and wanted to take care of him. Ghoul bugged him as a kid would his guardian, and Jet responded as one. But still, they were friends. They weren’t family.

Not yet, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed background characters so I put myself and a few friends in this book. My sister is the first person who shows up, then my datefriend with purple hair, I'm the dude with the lip ring, my friend has the weird accent and my other friend has strange tattoos. If we ever show up in this book again, it will just be as background characters to assist the plot. None of us have large places in the book and we barely speak. Don't worry lol


End file.
